"
[Footnote: One-eyed horse.]
"I wouldn't if I was you. He's all right to race up to a buffalo,
but that blind eye of his'll fetch him to grief some day. Ride the
old grey."
"No fear," said the old man obstinately, "the boco's one eye's
worth any horse's two. Me an' the boco will be near the lead when
the whips are crackin', take it from me."
"Come along, then!"
Hugh clambered on to his raw-boned steed, known as "Close Up,"
because he would go so close to the buffaloes, and the procession
started. The five white men rode ahead, all smoking with great
enjoyment. Hugh was beside one of the shooters, and opened conference
with him.
"I've heard a lot about this business," said Hugh, "but never hoped
to see it. What are these Australian buffaloes? I thought they were
just humped cattle like those little Brahmin cattle."
"People reckon they're the Indian buffalo," said the bushman. "They
were fetched here about fifty years ago from Java--just a few pair,
and they were let go and went wild, and now they're all over the
face of the earth about here. We've shot six hundred of 'em--just
the two rifles--in six months. It's not play, I tell you, to shoot
and skin six hundred and cure their hides in that time. We'll get
a thousand this season."
"Good Lord," said Hugh.
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